


Moments Before Death

by dramasweety



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Clopin being awesome, F/M, Family, Gen, Gypsy, Gypsy King, Pain, Singing, Torture, gypsies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramasweety/pseuds/dramasweety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clopin knew something was wrong the moment he heard the idiot captain speak. Due to his quick thinking, some gypsies managed to escape the Court of Miracles during Frollo's raid. And the same judge is willing to go far to get their location out of Clopin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comedic 'Owws'

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that I originally wrote this to be an one-shot. The extra 3 chapters happened a year and a half later when I suddenly couldn't get the story out of my head. So, please try and understand if they don't flow together very well. It's hard to get back that same rhythm after so long.

They all sat miserably tied up in the cells. It was demeaning, really. On top of keeping them behind bars, behind a lock door, they tied them up! With your arms behind your back and your elbows bounded together, it made balance difficult; which was a real annoyance because the ground was filthy, covered in all matter of bodily fluids and blood. Most people didn’t seem to care, though. A mix of exhaustion, depression, and, of course, poor balance left nearly all gypsies sitting on the floor in a state of defeat.

Clopin wished, not for the first time, he would at least be put in a cell with La Esmeralda. His people tried their hardest to escape their bonds, even going down to chewing on the other’s ropes. It was when that failed, Clopin used all his strength to stand. He nearly fell, but it still looked so graceful, even the people crying stopped to stare up at him. He had to show no emotion other than confidence, none what so ever.

“Brothers and sisters, we stand on the edge of the abyss. I’ll be the first to admit, we’re not getting out of this.” A child started to cry, causing Clopin to speed up his speech. “But we are gypsies, are we not? Are we going to cower for a bunch of _gadjos_ , or are we going to hold our heads high, dignity to our last breath?” A stir seemed to ripple through the crowd, captivated by Clopin’s charisma. He grinned, soaking it in. “Are we going to let these _gadjos_ think they’ve beaten us? No! We’ll stand tall down to each moment we have, for we are a proud people! We will not show them fear; for what do we have to fear of them?

“Don’t believe what they tell you!” Clopin continued, even making a few people smile despite themselves. “We will not go to hell! My people, I have died and come back with this message: we will never die! Our souls are free! We will ride the wind forever, just as we always have! Tomorrow, we may die, but will we be beaten?”

“No!” They cried, a few managing to get to their feet as well.

“Louder!”

“ _No_!” Came the collected cry of almost everyone.

As another large grin spread across his face, he opened his mouth to say more when the room door opened. All the heads flipped, a number flashing terror before remembering to stay strong. Clopin felt deep wrath. But, instead, adoptive a puzzled grin as guards approached.

“ _Bienvenue, monsieurs_ guards!” Clopin swept a foot under him, which allowed a graceful but highly uncomfortable bow. “You’ve come a bad time. You see, we forgot to sweep the floors!” Before Clopin could help it, he wore a sympathetic voice to match his face. “But surly, _monsieurs_ , you can at least forgive little Laverne? She is, after all, only four. Poor girl is downright _terrible_ at keeping her tent clean.” He tsked his tongue, receiving a small giggle from the girl.

The guard sneered, though Clopin felt a tingle of happiness as he glanced unsettling at the young children in the room. “Are you the one they’ve refer to as the ‘Gypsy King’?”

For the briefest moment, Clopin felt ice in his chest. It was finally over. Never again would he be safe from the authorities. He had always been very careful to keep identity hidden from the guards, and especially Frollo. As he stared at the guard, he found himself wishful for the comfort of the mask he wore when performing to the pagans.

He would have never had admitted it had he not worried someone else would take the fall.

“The one and only,” he said with as much of a mocked offended tone as he could muster. “Why, _monsieur_? Do I not frighten you? _Pardonnez-moi_ , I seem to be losing my touch! It must have something to do with being tied up despite being in a cage and behind a locked–”

But before he could finish his joke, more guards came rushing in. They swiftly unlocked the door, and approached them all with their swords drawn, forcing everyone to back away towards the walls. His people scurried across the floor on their backs, using their feet to propel them. This definitely thwarted Clopin’s mood down. “Now, now, that’s not very nice.” He huffed, but he didn’t move, not bothering to care when the men circled around him. He briefly considered jumping atop of one of their swords to die in the way _he_ chose. But, even if they would be dead by the end of the week or worse, Clopin didn’t want to scar the children in the room.

“You’re coming with us!” The same guard spat.

Clopin forced himself to shrug his shoulders and, when your elbows are tied together behind you back, it was a lot harder than it looked. It hurt a lot more too.

“Perhaps next week?” It wasn’t Clopin best joke, far from it, but panic was started to cloud his mind because he knew exactly what was coming. He attempted to keep his face bemused as he was dragged off by his shirt, knowing full and well he had the entire of the room’s attention on him. The one dragging him never bothered to make sure his knees didn’t grind across the ground, despite Clopin’s comedic ‘owws’ every time his knees hit the ground painfully, which was quite often, considering they were taking him down into the basement.

“In there, Gypsy King!” The guard behind him mocked as he delivered a well-aimed kick onto Clopin’s back, sending him flying onto the ground. He gritted his teeth into a grin to hide his pain. He could live through this pain.

Before Clopin decided he was willing to use the energy to stand, he sat up in surprise as a clawing voice breathed, “Well, well, well,”

“I always thought that was a foolish term to use.”  Clopin said with his grin still on his face as he turned to Frollo, emerging from the shadows. Wait? Didn’t he use the exact same phrasing only hours ago to The Captain and The Hunchback? “At least when I say it, something ‘well’ is going on. You should say something more like, ‘unwell, unwell, unwell’. Or, ‘poorly, poorly, poorly’,”

“Ah!” Frollo’s eyes flashed dangerously, and he put on a smile as well. “But my day is going well. And it’s only going to get better. Now tell, gypsy, where are the other vermin hiding?”

Clopin’s heart sank, but he put on a puzzled smile instead. How could Frollo possibly have known that some of the gypsies were hidden during the invasion at the Court? His only ray of sunshine throughout all of this was a little under a hundred gypsies in Paris had escaped and were living free. Clopin knew exactly where they were currently hidden!

 

_‘Frollo coming at dawn? That isn’t right! He’d never wait! These idiots must have led them right to us!’_

_Were the thoughts running through his head as Clopin jumped down and ordered everyone he could see to leave their stuff and run out the back. Recently the ceiling much deeper into the catacombs had collapsed, creating a large enough hole to climb through. Luckily, there was already a latter there whose purpose was going to be to be used to fix the hole, but now it was the gypsies’ last hope._

_Clopin turned to find La Esmeralda. He loved her as a sister and would never forgive himself if she didn’t escape. He spotted her hugging The Captain of the Imbeciles. Wrath consumed Clopin’s soul, and he suddenly couldn’t remember if he was approaching Esmeralda to save her, or kill the idiot getting chummy with her. But before he could reach her, he heard a sly voice proclaim, “Nor would I!”_

_Instantly, Clopin and his people were surround by guards.  He could hear Frollo saying, “After twenty years of searching, the Court of Miracles is mine at last.” Before he approached slowly towards La Esmeralda._

_“No!” Clopin screamed, “_ Salaud _!”_

_He had to create enough of a distraction for both Esmeralda’s sake, and the people fleeing quietly into the night. He pranced into the air, landing atop of a soldier’s shoulders. He felt the man fall under his weight, as light as he was, as he simultaneously punched his way through two soldiers. Clopin was no fool, unless when he was trying to be. He knew there was no way out of this, but he wanted to be known to go down fighting._

_It was a humbling moment when Clopin felt a fist into his jaw. Although he rolled the punch, it still hurt a lot. Perhaps if it had been ten, or even twenties years earlier, Clopin would have been able to jump back quicker. Sadly Clopin was only human. It seemed a near blink of an eye that Clopin was trapped in ropes with a guard he had given a bloody nose was pressing a foot onto his back._

_“There will be a little bonfire in the square tomorrow, and you’re all invited to attend.”_

_The news seemed to finally freeze the burning fire of fury in Clopin’s soul. He finally stopped fighting his restraints to look up at Frollo in utter horror. No! NO! Throughout his entire life, Clopin dedicated himself to his court! Every day he spent worrying about their safety, figuring out the best way to put food on the table, and watching over them as their king. The gypsies were his people, his family! He could not let this happen! Even if it was unless, Clopin kicked out his legs, hitting a soldier behind his knees. “You mindless brute!” He screamed as he did. “You follow Frollo like sheep!”_

_Clopin attempted to stand, but was quickly extinguished as a soldier stomped on his chest, causing the air to be knocked out of him. He heard his name being screeched by a gypsy girl, but he couldn’t see who, nor did the voice really have much familiarity to it. Before he could recover, he felt himself be pulled into the air, and had new ropes tied to him._

_Finally, he was thrown into a pile of other gypsies. Heaving, he forced himself up, looking for anyone familiar amongst the group. While most of them he only knew by face, he spotted a friend of his, before seeing a head of blond mess._

_Clopin launched himself to his side. “Thanks for this,” he said sarcastically, eyeing him with as much hatred as he could muster. “Thank you so much.”_

_“I was trying to help!” Despite his glare, Clopin could see the regret in the captain’s face._

_“You know, The Hunchback is too naïve and sheltered to really think like Frollo, so it much easier for me to forgive him. You, on the other hand, have only the excuse that you have to work hard to process basic things like walking in that little blond head of yours!”_

_“How was I supposed to know Frollo was following us?” He demanded._

_“It’s called thinking!”_

_“Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy trying to hang us; you would have noticed the troop!”_

_“Maybe if you hadn’t waltzed in here with the troop…!”_

_“You’re a thief!”_

_“You have no brain!”_

_“Vermin!”_

_“_ Gadjo _!”_

_“Beak-nose!”_

_Just then, a guard grabbed Clopin from behind, seemly tired of the growing argument. Clopin was about to fire more insults at the_ gadjo _, when he spotted the gypsies around them yelling at the captain, so it seemed just as well. The next few hours involved a mix of kicking soldiers, being throwing into a cell, and feeling everything slip away from Clopin._

Clopin was brought to the present as Frollo kicked him in the face, causing him to spit out yet another tooth. “Thanks for that.” He said, grinning with blood dripping out of his mouth. “Now I’m missing a tooth on both sides of my mouth! It matches!”

“Where are the gypsies hiding?” He asked, nonchalantly looking down at the Gypsy King below.

Clopin sat with his legs cross, refusing to whip his blood off his chin. “In the Court of Miracles, of course! Want me to give you directions?”

“Stop playing with me.” Frollo’s face snarled into a frown that would smite Clopin down if it could. “Tell me where they are hiding.”

“Now, now, Frollo.” Clopin tsked his tongue again. “You must learn to interact a little better! Otherwise people will think you anti-social.”

“For the good of you scum, I must–”

“–Agh! Don’t use ‘good’ and yourself in the same sentence again! I don’t think my ears could take it a second time!”

After this comment, Frollo kicked Clopin again. Though it hurt, it felt much more satisfactory that Clopin managed to get under his skin. “Doing your own dirty work?” Clopin asked, looking up at him on the floor. “God must be proud you’re so willing to dirty your own filthy hands!”

“Vermin like you should not speak His Name.”

“What else should I call Him? If you work for Him, a few names come to mind.” Frollo started to strike Clopin with his foot again, but it didn’t stop the gypsy from yelling out a few suggestions. “ _Salaud_ , with a capital ‘s’ of course. Abandoner, Killer of the Innocent,” He had a few more, but Frollo knocked the air out of him with a more aimed hit.

As he was gasping for air, he heard more soldiers come clanking in. With their approach, Frollo quickly stepped back, obtaining a much more calming composter.

“Sir, we have two others claiming to be the king.”

“Sir, I feel like I must warn about the one we have now. He took down five of my best men before we managed to capture him.”

The two guards spoke roughly at the same time, giving Clopin a mix of pride and worry. He glanced up as he heard his name gasped by a concerned familiar voice. Oh no, not Jacques. He _would_ give himself up to save Clopin. Next to him was a lad just out of adolescences whose name, regrettable, wasn’t coming to mind. Clopin did recognize him from the years of puppet shows he did for the younger crowd years prior and as the boy he caught listening on conversations once or twice.

The poor young fool didn’t know what he was going into when he said he was the King.

“Don’t you dare!” Clopin hissed. “You are not taking the fall for me. I am the Gypsy King!”

The elderly man smiled at him. He was someone Clopin went to many of time for advice, and was, by far, the oldest of the gypsies. Over the years, Jacques became a mentor and a good friend to Clopin. “Hush, your façade is over. You don’t need to pretend anymore.”

It dawned on Clopin like an avalanche of snow. Jacques would not survive over ten lashes of a whip. Therefore, he would die and the secret would stay safe. But Jacques didn’t know what the secret even was! Only Clopin knew, and he also knew he would never say, ever. It would just be fruitless torture that would only cause Clopin intense pain until his death. For Jacques, it would be quicker, but as equally painful.

How easy it would be to bow his head and lie that he was not the King. Have Jacques take the fall? Clopin could live much more comfortably until his death.

But Clopin would never do that to another gypsy!

“Jacques, I appreciate your offer, but I will not have you be tortured in my place! I am the Gypsy King. Now, I order the both of you to tell the truth.” Jacques refused to speak, and the boy started to cry.

“Y-you are the King, Clopin.” The lad whimpered. He wasn’t crying out of fear, but sadness because he knew the sacrifice his king had committed.

With that, a guard grabbed the back of Clopin’s tunic, and dragged him further into the torture chambers. He felt as they tied a new rope his wrists before cutting the other bonds off him. Using the new rope, they tied Clopin to a pillar with his stomach pressed tightly against it. Some more men stepped forward and ripped Clopin’s favorite tunic off of him, leaving only his pants. Slowly, he heard a whooshing noise that cut through the air. Nearly instantaneously after, pain erupted onto Clopin’s back. He felt his back inflame, but he refused to cry out. Another swooshing noise later and Clopin gasped, but again refused to cry out. His hands curled up in sure willpower. Panting he whispered, “Is that the worst you can do?”

Three, four, five, six… After six lashings, Frollo bent down close to Clopin’s face. “Tell me where the gypsies are hiding.” He growled.

Gathering up as much blood and saliva as he could, Clopin spat, and was very proud of his aim. “Hit him again!” Frollo demanded, smearing the ooze from his eye.

Clopin felt the pain that caused tears to spring to his eyes and loud moans to escape his lips. He tried to remember how many lashes a man could survive without dying. If the soldier was using all his strength, he figured he won’t last over twenty without passing out. If he was holding back as he is supposed to according to the law, Clopin could easily last fifty. However, easily was relative.

After twenty-four lashes, Clopin finally let out a small shriek of pain, but quickly shut his mouth. He could never remembering being in so much agony before! It clouded his brain, forcing nothing but flaring nerves to come to mind. Clopin was everywhere at once, past, present, and even future. He was having a hard time remembering anything, but one thing was clear in his mind: stay silent. Not a word.

“Where are the gypsies?” Frollo hissed into his ear.

Clopin forced his watery eyes open. Frollo’s face jumped into view. How had this man not aged over the years? It had easily been twenty years since the time Clopin had first laid eyes on him. It was just before the Court had been discovered and inhabited by the gypsies. Clopin himself had only been in his teens at the time, but he never forgot that hideous face that arrived in his nightmares. Clopin’s greatest enemy… perhaps monsters never aged.

For a moment, Clopin couldn’t remember where he was, or the year. His eyes glossed over, and threated to drag him to the depths of unconsciousness. Was he ten or forty? Was his family alive or had Frollo killed them already?

“Playing hide and seek.” He mumbled, becoming lucid just long enough to spit that out. Keeping his eyes opened proved to be too much of a strain, so he closed them, breathing heavily, but not crying. His knees tickled as a tinkling sensation of blood streamed down them. It was almost amusing (in a morbid curious sort of way) to him how he could feel that despite the anguish on his back.

He waited for the lashes to resume, actually semi-hoping for them to start once more. At least during the momentarily new wave of pain, he could escape into the numb part of himself. He knew deep down that the more strokes he received, the worse the pain would be later, but he didn’t want to focus on that now. Besides, a part of him wanted to pass out and escape and he felt he would let himself if he made it to fifty.

The flogging continued. Clopin begged for the moment he would become immune to the throbbing anguish, but the time never came. Each new whoosh numbed the previous one, but felt much more painful that the one before it. With each hit, a number when up in his head. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…

Finally, Clopin counted forty. He was gasping and whimpering in pain now, but knew screaming would carry all the way to where his people were being held as prisoners. “I can count…” he mumbled either in his head or out loud, he wasn’t quite sure. “Jacques taught me…”

“Where are the gypsies hiding?”

Oh right, that’s where he was. It was funny to Clopin that Frollo had to remind him. “With the wind…” He slurred. “Gone with the wind. Gypsies are always riding the wind.”

He heard Frollo stand, and he braced himself for more flogging. His body screamed for no more, but he knew it was a fruitless request. He waited in the tense air, wishing they would strike and get it over with. In some ways, waiting for the torment was actually worse than receiving it.

Yet it didn’t come. Curiosity overpowering exhaustion, Clopin eyes fluttered opened and he turned his head towards the back where he could see the man with a cat o’ nine tails whip looking tired and Frollo with his back towards the gypsy. Clopin focused on the man with the whip. The ends of the whip were covered in tissue and blood… _his_ blood. The man holding it seemed to be panting and rubbing his arm.

“Poor baby,” Clopin mumbled darkly.

Suddenly, Frollo gave a half turn back to Clopin, a sinister grin spreading across his face. There was some madness in his eyes that rarely showed. It didn’t surprise Clopin, though it was so unusual for Frollo’s madness to be showing.

Clopin had a feeling he should have been more scared, but he just felt tired. He was tired of fighting, tired of hating, just so past tired. If he was going to die within the week, why should he care anymore, really? Not to say he wasn’t ready to betray his people, far from it. He was just tried of Frollo.

“Can we get on with it?” Clopin said with an eye roll. He was greatly pleased this offset the guard he mentally named Whipping _Salaud_ and Frollo.

“Very well,” Frollo approached Clopin holding a melting candle on atop a round small handle holder. Without warning, he dumped the melting wax onto Clopin’s back.

Initially, Clopin let out a strangled scream, but he forced himself to bite down on his lip. He could taste the blood, but he bit down harder, doing his very best not to scream. He could barely feel the pain in his lip for his back was literally on fire. He could feel consciousness fleeing from him, but he didn’t fight back. He grabbed onto the slipping feeling, and finally allowed himself momentarily release from the worse agony he had ever felt.

Devoid of dreams, Clopin came to as water was splashed onto his face. He was _so_ miserable, and couldn’t remember why.

“Where are the gypsies?”

“You can never rid of us.” He garbled automatically, going in and out of sleep.

“Where are they hidden?”

“Where you’ll _never_ find them…” Clopin mumbled, feeling a light feeling around him. Someone slapped him, and he finally was fully woken up. He let out a gasp and a moan, but still refused to scream. He glared up at Frollo now as his face was inches from his. “I am the only one that knows, and I’ll never tell. Beat me, crush me, and even kill me, but you can never break the Gypsy King. Claude Frollo, how disappointing it must be… that you can’t break me.” Despite the intense pain, Clopin let out a giggle. “That rhymed. I must remember to write a song about it.”

For a moment, it almost seemed like Clopin shattered Frollo. Body shaking, his hands reached forward as if to strangle him. His eyes flared angrily, but suddenly he stopped. Calm and collected, his voice was as sly as a snake. “No matter. Perhaps I should bring Esmeralda in and give her a good flogging too. Maybe that will loosen your tongue.”

And Clopin laughed. He laughed at Frollo’s bluff because it was too pathetic. He laughed because the thought terrified him. He laughed because, if nothing else, Frollo was becoming desperate. “Even if you did, I would never talk, nor would she. Besides, you never would. Frollo, you think I haven’t seen the way you look at her?”

Just then, Frollo’s madness sneaked all the way through, but just briefly. “Clever little vermin, twisting the truth to cloud the mind with unholy thoughts.”

“What does the bible say about denial?” Clopin countered.

“Take him away and let him rot with the other cretins.”

But Clopin wasn’t done. A fire lite up in his soul the way only it could when someone threated Esmeralda. “Listen here and listen well, Claude Frollo.” he growled, dropping his whimsical tone for the first time in a long, long time. “If you dare to hurt Esmeralda, hurt a single hair on her head, the grave won’t stop me from coming back and doing the same to you tenfold! If you hurt her – and _I’ll_ know if you do – you’ll taste the fires of hell!”

“I said, _take him away_!”

They were dragging Clopin, but he was too physically exhausted to fight back. “I’ll know!” He yelled after him.

Then Clopin wanted to cry. He wanted to cry from both the pain and the situation he and his people, especially Esmeralda, were stuck in. But he had to ignore the temptation because he was thrown back into the same cell he was in before. They threw him back first, which caused such a wave of anguish Clopin shut his eyes and gritted his teeth to avoid shrieking. There was no way he would have lasted that long, only to fail now.

“Clopin!” People crowded around him. Clopin opened his eyes and gave a small smile to help calm the concerned looks “We were so worried!” gushed one. “We thought we heard a scream…?”

Clopin made a mental praise in his name for not shouting save that lone short one when Frollo poured the wax on him. “Wasn’t me.” He lied. People were starting to give him questionable looks as if to why he was lying on the floor still. Unfortunately, Clopin barely had enough energy to stay awake, let alone sit up. The pain helped, but his body still craved sleep.

“Told you it wasn’t him!” declared a younger lad by the name of Alexandre. He glanced down at Clopin, wearing a triumphant grin. At once, it melted into panic. “Clopin!” He gasped, staring down at the man with wide horrified eyes. “Is that _blood_?”

“Probably,” Clopin gave him grin, feeling lightheaded. “Everyone bleeds, kid.”

Before he could protest, a woman pushed him over so he was on his stomach. There was a loud gasp and a few people started crying. There was a loud and active commotion above and around him, but Clopin was starting to feel like he didn’t care anymore again. He started to slip into a trance state of not quite asleep, but not awake. It reminded him of being very drunk.

A woman bent down until she was inches from Clopin’s face. In his current state of mind, Clopin wouldn’t have even bothered to focus on her, until he was well aware that the woman was now shirtless. After the shock wore off, Clopin remembered wondering how she managed that with her elbows tied together. “This is going to hurt.” She warned, but Clopin was too busy staring to have it really process in his head.

Suddenly, someone started to mess with the inflamed wounds on his back. “Hello?” Clopin snapped, turning his head to glare at whoever dared. He did his best not to yell, but that hurt!

Before his strength betrayed him, Clopin took a moment to see that most people, men and woman, we now shirtless. He spotted an odd couple in the back removing the male’s shirt by having one of the gypsies grab ahold of it with their teeth to pull it off.

‘What comes up must come down…’ Clopin thought as his head hit the floor again. He made a mental note to hurt gravity should he ever get the chance.

Laverne’s mother Clair grabbed ahold of Clopin’s hand. “You need to untie me, Clopin.” Grunting, Clopin ran his hand across the knot and weaved his fingers until he discovered the weak link and the knot loosened enough for Clair to be free.

With his back facing Clopin (likely due to his binds), someone shoved a rolled up shirt into Clopin’s mouth. “Bite on that.”

It tasted awfully like sweat and smelled something terrible. It occurred to Clopin that the shirt probably had gone a month without being washed. He was about to spit it out when he felt someone, probably Clair, peel away wax off his skin. Wanting to howl, Clopin focused on biting the shirt as hard as he could. ‘Forget the pain!’ He told himself over and over. ‘Just bite! Bite! Bite, _saluad_! You are the Gypsy King! Show no weakness!’

When she picked out the wax out of his gashes, Clopin thought he would faint, but he somehow held on. Just as Clopin was about to give in and finally let his pain be heard, he could hear someone singing.

 

_From childhood’s hour I have not been_

_As others were_ – _I have not seen_

 _As others saw_ – _I could not bring_

 _My passions from a common spring_ –

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow_ – _I could not awaken_

 _My heart to joy at the same tone_ –

 _And all I lov’d_ – _I_ _lov’d alone_ –

_Then_ – _in my childhood_ – _in the dawn_

 _Of a most stormy life_ – _was drawn_

_From ev’ry depth of good and ill_

_The mystery which binds me still_ –

_From the torrent, or the fountain_ –

 _From the red cliff of the mountain_ –

_From the sun that ’round me roll’d_

_In its autumn tint of gold_ –

_From the lightning in the sky_

_As it pass’d me flying by_ –

 _From the thunder, and the storm_ –

_And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of a demon in my view_ –

By the time the song was finished, Clopin’s back was being swathed in bandages made from the shirts people had eagerly given their king. Clopin’s back had become something of a constant throbbing that seemed to dull down and all Clopin wanted to do was sleep. Instead, he forced his palms onto the ground and pushed himself up.

“You need to rest!” Clair protested, but Clopin held a hand to silence her. It took a lot effort, and even more waving down help, Clopin managed to prop himself into a standing position using the wall for support. He smiled at his people, soaking in their gratitude. These people made each of those torturous moments earlier worth it. These people, who have nothing, had that taken away, and now faced death, gave the shirts on their backs for Clopin.

He loved them dearly. In a heartbeat, no faster, he would give anything to set them free. Little Laverne looked up at Clopin, old tears in her eyes. He had nothing to give them, not even hope. The only thing Clopin had left was song…

Slowly, he opened his mouth and sang the lyrics of a happy song. Some of the notes were slightly off because of the occasional flinch of pain, but Clopin sang as loud as he could.

 

_How delicious is the winning_

_Of a kiss at love's beginning,_

_When two mutual hearts are sighing_

_For the knot there's no untying!_

_Yet remember, 'Midst our wooing,_

_Love has bliss, but Love has ruing;_

_Other smiles may make you fickle,_

_Tears for other charms may trickle._

Guards were running towards them now. There were shouts for Clopin to be quiet, so he sang louder. Quickly, the other Gypsies joined in, singing a song of freedom and love.

 

_Love he comes, and Love he tarries,_

_Just as fate or fancy carries;_

_Longest stays, when sorest chidden;_

_Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden._

_Bind the sea to slumber stilly,_

_Bind its odor to the lily,_

_Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,_

_Then bind Love to last forever._

 

Clopin thought it was an echo from the gloomy Palace of Justice, but realized it was the booming voice of every gypsy there, shouting the last words with as much passion as they could.

_Love's a fire that needs renewal_

_Of fresh beauty for its fuel:_

_Love's wing molts when caged and captured,_

_Only free, he soars enraptured._

_Can you keep the bee from ranging_

_Or the ringdove's neck from changing?_

_No! nor fetter'd Love from dying_

_In the knot there's no untying._

 

And for a moment, Clopin could have sworn he heard Esmeralda singing as well. The thought made him grin.


	2. Worse, Mon Petit

The grin slowly fell from his face as his body slide down the wall he was using as support. Immediately, he was surrounded by a mob of well intending people. Someone, he wasn’t sure who with his eyes close, had his head gathered into their lap. Clopin felt his body sagging with exhaustion as multiple people began to stroke his hair. One person in particular was rubbing a small circle on the back of his head.

He wasn’t sure the exact moment he had felt consciousness slip away from him. In any other situation, he would have been very embarrassed to be seen so weak. But, at least for now, he didn’t beat himself up about. After all, he was wounded enough without further self-inflicted wounds.

The gypsies around him would sing soft tunes in small voices, helping to ease him back into sleep while people would continue to caress his head. It did help. However, no matter how much his body craved sleep and how powerless he was to resist, he wished people won’t allow the dreams to happen. Consciousness hurt more, but it was at least less confusing.

The dreams were baffling! In one moment, he’d be running through the streets, and, in the next, he was chained. Then, he was flying. Suddenly, he was trapped under a mountain of paper. Before each moment could register, he was abruptly tossed into another. It was just as disorientating as it was painful.

The ache would bounce around his head with ragged sharp edges. Spaghetti with glass would wiggle between his ears. Gold jewelry ate him alive. Esmeralda was dancing. His mask no longer fit. Clothes were too bright and loud. Hair was too long and wild. People had clubs and were smashing his head. Glass shards were everywhere on his mind. Someone was screaming.

Noise chased the hallucinations away. Though his head was pounding, he was grateful for the release from the nightmares.

The screaming continued. That part wasn’t a dream?

His eyes fluttered open, the light hurting. Someone was cradling his head in their arms. Why were they doing that? Why did everything hurt so much? What was going on?

Before he could even really consider the situation, Clopin was bounding forward, trying to grab at her. The arms holding him fell away in the shock.

A guard. A fucking guard had little Laverne in a chock hold with a knife on her neck!

“Let her go!” He gasped out. His hands managed to take ahold of her tiny arms before someone kicked him in the stomach. The force made him black out as his back hit the floor. When he came to, he was being dragged away as shrieks of his name came begging from so many directions. He found that he was unable to keep his eyes open. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he needed his vision to know what was happening to him, he couldn’t muster the willpower.

He must have fainted again because the next thing he was aware of was people kicking him. He whimpered loudly, arms going up to protect his head, even though his back hurt more than anything he ever felt possible. In that moment, he begged silently for death to take him before magnificent blackness enveloped him once more.

When he finally came back around to somewhat coherence, people were sobbing and begging. They were pleading with unseen people, trying to convince them that they knew nothing.

“Please, let him go!”

“He’ll die!”

“We don’t know! We swear!”

“Clopin, please…”

The world slipped from his grasp once more. When he finally managed to fight his way towards cognizance once _again_ , he was being held up by his hair. His mouth released a moan as he stirred.

Nothing made sense anymore. Everything was just _so_ painful. He wished he was dead. Though he wasn’t sure exactly who he was, why this was happening; the only thing he knew beyond a doubt was that he wished death would claim him so he could be released from _this_.

“Where are the other gypsies?”

He knew that voice, didn’t he? It was hard to tell. Hell, he wasn’t sure who he was. Did anything at all exist before this pain became his reality? He wasn’t sure. Even though he didn’t have a single real thought, he mumbled, “You’re a _salaud_.”

Was it the right thing to say? Would this person finally kill him? He felt himself be dragged into an upright position. He groaned loudly.

The only bit of awareness he managed to cling to was the knowledge that there was something cold (‘Probably metal,’ his mind told him) was up against his cheek. He being held like that while someone, very _loudly_ he might add, demanded that they all put on the shirts.

Shirts of all things? Perhaps this was another overstimulated nightmare.

There was quiet for a moment and he was no longer being beaten or moved! It helped clear the fuzz around his head enough to slowly open his eyes. The flickers of the torches he saw were too bright, but he was happy to see gypsies with his own vision. Oh, he had eyes again! Wait, he was thinking again!

Oh that’s right! He was a gypsy. More than that, he was The Gypsy King. He was Clopin.

The knowledge that he had a name; that even before this torment became his only reality he was _someone_ made him start to laugh with relief. If he had existed before this agony, that meant he could return to whomever he was then. Was that hope he was feeling?

The sound echoed darkly against the walls. Many people stopped dressing themselves to stare at him. He found himself wondering what emotion they looked at him in, but found he was unable to read their faces.

Now that full awareness was slowly returning to him, Clopin was starting to gradually take things in. He was being held against someone’s armor. There was a knife against his cheek. The pervious shirtless gypsies were now wearing white tops. They were all staring at him. He should do something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. It was becoming increasingly aware to him that he was in no mental state to make any decisions.

So, he did the most natural thing for him to do: he smiled at them.

A couple started to weep openly. A few more began to smile back at him. Most stare at him in what he now recognized as shock. The slightly enlarged eyes, the gap between the lips: disbelief was oozing from them.

As he took it in, he was caught off guard as the guard –‘Fun choice of words, Clopin. Remember to make that a pun.’ – aburtly pushed him forward. He tumbled ungracefully, unable to gather the strength it took to keep him upwards. Thankfully, a couple gypsies caught him before he was able to reacquaint himself with the ground.

“ _Salaud_.” Clopin mumbled in the direction of the man.

“Yeah!” Said one gypsy, slowly turning his gaze from the lean man to where Clopin assumed was where the guard was standing. “You’re just a lowly _salaud_!”

“Quiet, filth!” barked a rough voice.

“ _Salaud_!” accused another.

Instantly, the room erupted with shouts of insults. Though most became a jumbled noise to Clopin, he frowned when he heard the word ‘children’ be tossed around a bit. Was it possible he hadn’t dreamed the bit with Laverne? What kind of man took a small child? _Merde_! That was low, even for one of Frollo’s guards.

He was brought back to reality as the people holding him began to cry. The noise made him stand up on his own, simply to the alarm it caused him. He heard protest from both his back and other people, but he forced it out of his mind. Instead, he reached forward and wiped the tears away from one of the men in front of him.

Though his mouth moved, no audible words left his lips. Ignoring the bizarre situation where his mouth would function and his voice would not, he moved onto the next person, wiping away tears of a woman this time.

Even though his entire being screamed to continue, his body began to shake, ignoring its commands.

No one seemed to notice his inner turmoil because someone came running forward and grabbed his head into a tight embrace. Once again, Clopin could not see who held him. However, he relaxed into the embrace, feeling safe in the arms of his kin.

People surrounded him now. So many voices bundled together, merging into a single voice of gratitude. After taking a much of his selfish ego could handle, Clopin forced himself into a sitting position and tried to word his sentence carefully. “I blacked out for a moment there.” He gave a laugh, mostly for himself. “What’d I miss?”

A few people avoided his gaze once he asked. A wiry smile appeared on his lips at this. Did they think he’d make them answer if they continued to look at him?

Beside him, Clair answered. Judging on her close position, Clopin had to assume she had been the one holding his head. “They took the children, Clo.”

“They did?” he crooked his head, hoping to seem at ease. He didn’t want anyone to see how much at rattled him. Given that his mind was still slightly fuzzy, he wasn’t sure how much he succeeded in neutralizing his expression. Not wanting to see whether or not he failed, he turned his entire attention to Clair. “Lavern too?”

“Yes,” the woman whispered, tears brimming. “They took everyone under the age of ten.”

Clopin did a quick glance around the room and saw that, true to her word, the youngest person remaining was Alexandre, a boy of about twelve. “Can’t say I’m happy about that.” Clopin folded his arms, frowning only slightly. “I will assume that they mean to spare them, at least.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Clair give a soft whimpering noise. “Yes, I think so too. I’m grateful.”

Not turning to look at her, he raised a hand and gave her a small squeeze on the shoulder. He wished he could tell her not to worry because they’d get them back, but that was a lie. No, they were all going to die. There was no way for him to protect them now. He wished there was, but wishing and hoping was a foolish endeavor that Clopin did little of. Besides, La Esmeralda had enough idealism for the both of them.

Esmeralda… no, it hurt too much to think about her right now.

“What were they talking about Clopin?” whispered a woman with wide eyes, finally breaking the silence. “Why were they asking about other gypsies? We were all captured.”

“Well,” Clopin feinted embarrassment, giving them a small smile while he scratched the back of his head. “I hadn’t wanted to say anything, in case Frollo didn’t know. But, seeing how he does know, I can tell you.” He gave a large grin now, almost beaming. “About a hundred or so escaped during the raid and Frollo has no idea where they are now.”

Shock flickered across many faces. Slowly, that melted away into smiles. “Ha! Frollo must be tearing his hair out!”

“He was so close; we still won!”

“Are they safe?”

“I’m happy for them.”

“But where are they Clopin?”

The last question made silence fall on them. Many, if not all, turned to stare at his face. During Clopin’s hesitation, a woman spoke up. “You know, don’t you? That’s why…”

She didn’t have to finish. Shaking his head, Clopin willed himself not to take in their pity. Gratitude was one thing, but he would not allow himself to be pitied. “Don’t ask.” He finally snapped, coming out harsher than he intended. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Oh, _Clo_ ,” whispered Clair.

“None of that.” Clopin chided playfully, wagging a finger at her. “I will have none of that.”

They all looked too tentative to say something, but it was clear they all had _something_ to say. Clopin folded his arms, looking at them with a smirk, daring them to commiserated him.

“It’s – that’s – I’m sor–” one began.

“Moving on.” Clopin interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Did Frollo come himself? Did he grace us with his _wondrous_ presence?”

To his relief, the comment made a few smiles. A gypsy named Alphonse spoke up after it became clear no one else would. “Yes. He asked us about the gypsies. When we told him we didn’t know, he had them finally stop kicking you. He told us that he would be back tomorrow to ask again after his ‘bonfire’. He then made the comment we needed to dress up, so they forced us to wear these stupid things.” With his face screwing with disgust, he made a point to gesture at his white shirt.

As he spoke, Clopin became aware that he was also wearing a shirt as well. Well, whatever. It helped with the heat if nothing else. Giving a small bleak chuckle, Clopin said, “Really? What does that _salaud_ think will happen? ‘Oh, you are killing my family? I’ll definitely tell you where to find the rest now’!”

“Clo,” came a soft whisper.

“Don’t start, Clair. We all already know we’re not making it out of this one. No need to be so gloomy until the end, though.” Searching his brain was harder than he would have liked, but he did managed to recall some of his pervious speech. “I meant what I said earlier.” He said, voice gaining volume. “We will die, but our spirits will be just as free as they always have.” Looking carefully over his attentive audience, he continued with a convincing grin. “We’ll ride the wind forever.”

Turning his attention to the small opening in the wall, he noticed that the sun was rising well into the afternoon. “They’ll be back soon enough to take us. When they get here, there’s no reason to delay the inventible. Let’s just hope that by cooperating, they’ll be even kinder to the children.”

He wanted to tell them that it was the only hope they had left. But, telling them that was for his sake alone. No, he refused to burden them with the gloom he held inside.

“Clopin?”

“Yes, Alexandre?”

“You said about a hundred gypsies escaped.”

He grinned at him. “They did.”

“Then…” The boy’s brows lowered, looking deep in thought in both the literal and the figurative sense. “Then, we gypsies still won, right? It doesn’t matter than Frollo got most of us, he didn’t get _all_ of us.”

“He will never rid of us.” Clopin gave a laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair with great affection. “Gypsies are freedom, and one can never fully chain freedom.”

“Then why do they try so hard? What do they have against people that are different? Why do they fear us?”

“Because when someone is different, people get confused and scared. Most people want so badly to belong; they’re blind to the knowledge that everyone is different. So when they come across someone who not only embraces the idea of being unique, but is happy about it? They get so scared, because they are forced to realize they themselves aren’t as normal as they liked to believe. And, even worse than that, that they had given up on something as wonderful as being free to be themselves for nothing. They see that we are truly happy being who we are and they are at a lost. And that confusion becomes fear.”

“If they’re just confused, then someone should just explain it to them!” The lad curled his fists, looking furious now. “Don’t they have someone to explain what freedom truly is to them? Don’t they have someone like you?”

“Worse, _Mon Petit_.” Clopin admitted, feeling rushes of affections for the lad. “They have someone like Frollo twisting their fear and confusion into hatred.”

“Then–”

“It doesn’t excuse their actions.” Clopin amended, quickly. “Ignorance doesn’t excuse crimes or hatred.”

“Ignorance…” The boy murmured thoughtfully.

A part of Clopin wondered why he felt so insistent on giving this boy some wisdom when he would be dead so very soon. “Remember that, Alexandre. Hatred born of ignorance is foolish. Hatred born of experience is wise.”

Unable to see the young man’s earnest face any longer, Clopin forced himself to avert his gaze. He didn’t want to see such a _young_ face full of hope while hearing the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that the boy would die. Instead, he looked to the rest of his people, giving them a small sad smile. “Everyone, take a moment to say your goodbyes. They will be here soon.”

Few acknowledged him, but they did as he suggested. Not wanting to say a single goodbye to anyone, Clopin curled up against the cold wall, but was careful not to let it touch his back.

He avoided having his thoughts wander too far away from fluffy happiness as everyone did as they were bid. He would appear happy and content for the people around him until his dying breath.

Clopin would not cry; he would laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Stone on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know there's a whole 36 extra seconds worth of Frollo monologuing while Quasi has to gather enough resolve to do something about the evident painful and slow death of his only friend? I had to make up what I thought he might have been saying. I hope it worked. I don't know if I managed his voice just right.

_How disappointing it must be that you can’t break me._

Those were his words. He had uttered them with a glare in his eyes and his face only inches from _that_ man. At the time Clopin had meant it. With blood tickling down his back, his lips cut open from a self-inflicted wound, and wax deep into his body– at that moment he had even believed it.

After all, he had just received 40 lashes without once screaming. Even with his oblivious nature it was a feat he had been extraordinarily proud of. If he could do that with only sure willpower (not even hope) to drive him, how could a mere _saluad_ like Frollo hope to break him? The gallows? The pyre? Further fruitless torture? How laughable.

But there was no other way to explain what he was feeling. It felt as though someone had taken ahold of his head with one hand and his feet in the other and was enjoying slowly bending in him the middle.

‘Bend, Clopin! Bend, but do not break!’

His frantic thoughts could not settle the devastating feeling in his stomach. A gripping, aching old fear came crashing against him like waves onto a cliff side. He was caught, exposed, hunted. A spiraling ball of dread took ahold of his heart, attempting to crush it. There was nothing he could do, nothing.

“Esme,” He whispered.

Once more, he tried to shake the bars of their cage. The lock was far too strong and he was far too weak. Whimpering, he pressed his head as far through the bars as it could allow, staring unblinking as Frollo crept up on La Esmeralda with a torch in his hand.

The judge walked with grace and pride as he drew closer to her. Esmeralda was tied tightly to a wooden stake, dressed in the purest of whites. Dotting her feet were bundles of dry tinder.

Frollo approached even closer. From Clopin’s distance, he could not see any facial expressions but he could read Esmeralda’s body language enough to see disgust when he saw it. Despite the large tangle of despair around Clopin’s soul, a flash of pride with a smile flutter across him as he watched her spit him in the face.

‘I did that first though, Esme!’

The small flare of positive emotion fled at once as Frollo turned to talk to the crowd.

Clopin snarled at the thought of the crowd. He had heard plenty of cries of, “She’s innocent!” or “Frollo’s gone mad!” but not a single person dared forward. Cravens! All of them were cravens! When the hunchback was being wronged, Esmeralda did more than talk. She stepped forward. She may have been a fool, but she had tried to help.

“The gypsy Esmeralda has refused to recant! This heathen witch as put the soul of every citizen in Paris in awful jeopardy. So long as she refused to accept God and repent for her many sins, her sway she has on the souls of the citizens remains. Her heathen ways and practice of witchcraft will only grow stronger until she has all men, women, and children under her spell! There remains only one way for her to atone for her crimes and release her hold on the good holy people of Paris.”

Frollo paused here, glancing at the crowd slowly. “For justice, for Paris, and for her own salvation, it is my sacred duty to send this unholy demon... back where she belongs!”

With his last words, he lowered the torch down. The tinder caught immediately, sending smoke up to a terrified Esmeralda. There were murmurs of protest, but Clopin found himself screaming.

“No!”

His eyes filled with tears and he flung himself against the cage. Nothing! There was nothing he could do! He forced his eyes open, staring unblinking as Esmeralda sagged, coughing as she breathed in smoke.

What was the last thing they talked about? The memory hit him quickly. It was two days ago… She had been worried he was mad at her for her actions during the Feast.

 

_“I’m certainly not angry with you despite all the extra work you’ve caused me.”_

_Tears brimmed at the edges of her eyes, but did not fall. “All those people… It’s my fault.” She looked up at him, eyes wide with pleas. “I didn’t want this; I swear!”_

_He gave a sigh. It was hard to look her at her directly when she stared at him like that. Her emerald orbs could grow as large as calf eyes. It made him want to spoil her rotten. “I already told you I’m not angry. Why would I blame you for something that_ saluad _Frollo did?”_

_“Because everyone else blames me.”_

_He tsked his tongue. “Now I don’t believe that for one moment.”_

_“They do. And I don’t blame them for blaming me.”_

_Clopin waved his hand at her. “Agh, ignore them (whoever ‘them’ is). If it wasn’t this that caused Frollo such madness, it would have been something else.” She shifted her weight, looking unconvinced. Clopin didn’t mind that she didn’t fully trust him as he wasn’t sure he believed his own words. He huffed, hoping a more firm approach would help instead. “If you’re so bent on placing blame, please direct it towards Frollo. I will accept nothing less.”_

_That finally drew a small smile onto her fair face. “Thanks Clo.”_

_“Anytime,_ Ma Cherie _.”_

 

He should have hugged her so tightly that she squeaked. Why hadn’t he told her that she was the only person he considered blood? Where was the conversation where he told her all about how proud he was at the person she had grown into and it was an honor to watch it unfold?

Just as he began to whimper once more, he heard a collection of gasps. Before he could spot the cause, a large figure leapt in front of his vision, landing roughly onto the stage.

Hope only had a brief time to flutter in his chest as the surprising scene quickly began. The figure he quickly recognized as the hunchback bolted forward. In a single tug, the ropes binding the flagged gypsy were off and she was slumped over a bumpy shoulder.

Clopin tried to call out in warning as three guards began to climb behind Quasimodo, but the sound got caught in the lump in his throat. Not needing a warning, Quasi grabbed the pyre, ripped it out of the stage with one arm, and flung it at the guards. Without another glance, he grabbed a rope Clopin hadn’t noticed before and swung himself and Esmeralda towards Notre Dame. The speed which he hurtled them caused him more panic than comfort, but he relaxed the moment he saw the young man start to climb.

A laugh escaped him. It was unlike any one he had chortled before. In it, he could hear his own relief clear as Frollo’s denial. Faster than he thought possible, the choking fear that clutched his heart loosen to near none existence.

He didn’t watch as the man climbed. Instead he turned his attention to the guard nearest him. In the confusion of the show, the man had strayed far too close to the cage. Perhaps to get a better view?

A grin grew as his mind whirled. On the guard’s left dangled keys. On his right side laid his dagger.

In a single motion, Clopin plucked the sword and had the guard in a headlock. In his ear, he quickly hissed a sentence before running the sleek blade across his neck. “I cut throats; I don't cut purses.”

Before Clopin let the body fall, he snatched the keys. As he attempted the first key, he heard a bellowing call throughout the city.

“Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”

Clopin found the right key during the second yell and was able to finally look up during the final cry. Unable to distinguish much from such a high height, Clopin only noted, with horror, that La Esmeralda was not moving.

‘Later, Clopin. You have more than her to protect!’ He commanded in his head.

He pushed open the cage, letting it fall with a loud clank. Over the noise of the cheers and Frollo’s cry of, ‘charge’ Clopin doubted anyone of importance heard it.

Feeling the king in him rise, the gypsy turned to his stunned kin. “Fight!” was all he ordered. Just as he turned back to the confusion, he watched as a beam fall from above and shattered Frollo’s carriage.

‘ _Merde_ ,’ He thought with a large grin. ‘Not that I’m complaining, but this quickly ended up not being how I expected.’

He climbed out the cage, pulling himself up onto the top of it. The people still needed a push to fight against their own fears. However, he had never spoken to the mass (beyond being the fool), only his people. He knew how to speak to the gypsies, how to inspire them. So the only thing he could do was pray to the God he didn’t believe in that pagans were just as human as his people despite their close minds.

“Citizens of Paris!” He cried, his voice somehow raising above all the chaos. “Frollo has persecuted _our_ people! Ransacked _our_ city!” One more thing! It would only take one more thing to make these people redirect their hate from the gypsies to the judge. A bang behind him caused him to turn to Notre Dame. The beam Quasimodo had dropped was now being used as a battering ram. Though he had no love for the building, the pagans worshiped it more than their precious God. “Now, he has declared war on Notre Dame herself! Will _we_ allow it?”

The uproar was deafening with the cries of no. From all sides, peasants broke free of the line of soldiers. From every angle there were bashing locks, slashing through soldiers, and brawls from every corner.

Clopin turned, ready to fight. Black dots sprinkled across his vision and he felt his body slip. A chocking cry of pain fell from his lips as he felt himself collide into a body. Tears streaming down his face, he opened his brown eyes, staring in confuse at Clair’s petrified face.

“We need to get you out of here.” She whispered.

“Did you catch me?” he wondered softly. “Why did I fall?”

Her scared face lit up in anger. “How can you even ask? Your back has been cut to shreds! It’s a wonder you’re even conscious! What were you thinking, just now? You could have just gotten yourself killed!”

“Right,” Clopin conceded. He gave a smile to hide his pain and calm Clair down. “I forgot I was injured.”

“Only you could,” She snapped. Half dragging, she brought him up standing. “You ripped open most of your scabs. You’re bleeding everywhere!”

“Wait. You’re taking me the wrong way! I need to help.”

“No, you need to get new better bandages! You are in no condition to fight.”

“I have keys.” He mumbled, holding the jagged metal sticks up. “I can help without fighting.”

“Most of the cages–”

“–exactly! Most, not all.” He wiggled out of under her grasp with a sudden surprising motion. He managed a few steps before his vision tunneled and the ground grew unsteady.

Once more, Clair caught him before he hit the ground. “You’re going to kill yourself!” She cried, fear and tears edged in her face.

“I need to recuse them. Help, if you want. Leave me be if you won’t.”

“Will you listen to me if we do this?”

“Maybe.”

Without another word, Clair grabbed him by the arms and helped him over to the cages with as much haste as she dared. As they made their way through the chaos, the pushing crowd, the sounds of fighting and death in the air, Clopin found himself slipping away. The pain was back again. That terrible unrelenting agony that ravaged his back and clouded his mind had returned with a vengeance. In midst the chaos, had he really forgotten that it was lying there waiting in hopes of dragging him down?

He had to ignore it, though. If he was unable to fight, he would at least recuse the poor sods that could.

The frenzy mob all but left them alone as they slowly made their way to the first cage. As he reached the door using Clair as a support, the group of twenty or so adults came rushing towards the door. Around seven all spoke at once.

“You’re hurt!” one cried.

“What happened?” shouted two or three.

“Let us fight!”

“Let us out!”

“Are there kids with you?”

“Did you _see_ that, Clopin?”

Ignoring them all, he fixated on the lock. It took only one lucky try for the contraption to click. Without needing a word, the gypsies gave it a push and they all tumbled out.

“Fight!” Clopin shouted, though most had already run off to join the fray.

Only two stayed around. One was a young woman with a fierce glare named Cosette (a dear friend to, as well as strikingly similar, La Esmeralda) and the other was a man named Gringoire.

“You’re hurt.” Cosette barked, crossing her arms. “Go to safety.”

“You’re welcome.” Clopin rolled his eyes dramatically, hoping to ease some of her tension. “Now, there are others to free.”

“No!” She snapped, placing a hand firmly against his chest. “It’d only take one stray arrow to kill you, Clopin.”

His temper got the better of him. “The same applies to you!”

“Yes, but I don’t matter to the Court as much as you do!”

“Tell that to your mother. I’m certain she’d disagree. I have others to help.”

“Let me go instead!” Gringoire suddenly piped up. “I’m a poet, not a fighter. I’d just make things worse!”

Clopin regarded the pale man. He was among the very few gypsies that weren’t born to the life. It was still strange to see him willing to risk his life for the people.

Before he could respond, Cosette snatched the keys with quick fingers. No wonder the bells never jingled for her.

“Take it and go quickly!” She commanded, pushing them into Gringoire’s hands.

The young man began forward, but stopped as Clopin barked, “Stop!”

Gringoire paused, looking torn and scared. Taking a deep breath, Clopin attempted to settle his stubborn mind for the best course of action. There were only two cages left, but the last one was far enough away that Clopin wanted to scream from the pain already just from the idea of walking there.

He was about to send the man away, but his eyes widened as a frown appeared on his lips. He pointed with exaggerated flicks of his wrists as he spoke. “Unlock that one, but leave the last one to me.”

Without waiting for any confirmation to his orders, he began forward. Clair quickly caught up with him, saying nothing.

Each step caused his back to scream in protest. Tears plagued his eyes, falling like a waterfall as he leaned further onto the woman next to him. He could feel blood gushing through the makeshift bandages and even to the white shirt the guards had forced all the shirtless people to wear. Every inch from his neck down throbbed in anguish. For a brief moment, he even entertained the idea of death, just to escape it.

He bit his lip as the thought ran through his head. The cut reopened again, filling his mouth with blood that he quickly spat out. The new pain anchored his mind, reminding him where he was. More importantly than that, the release from flared nerves made him remember who and _what_ he was.

“Clopin! Why did you do that? Where are your senses?”

“Oh, I’ll find them later.” The words came out a little strange with a swelling lip, but Clopin pretended not to notice. The last cage was only a few yards away. He could make it!

By the time he stumbled to the metal carrier, Gringoire had finished with the other cage and was running over. But Clopin wasn’t watching him. The man in the cage stared intently at Clopin, not saying a word and the gypsy was more than happy to do the same. Both forgot Clair was there in her silent, albeit disapproving, support as they locked eyes.

When Gringoire arrived at Clopin’s side, he looked shocked and frightened as he hastily gave over the keys. Tearing his eyes away, Clopin gave the young man a hard look. “The children are still at the Palace of Justice. I leave you in charge of their freedom. Do you understand?”

The poet squeaked, but appeared determined none the less. He gave a short awkward bow before running off. Turning back to the prisoner, Clopin dangled the keys out of reach, making sure he could see them in full view.

Finally, the man spoke. “Are you going to free me, or kill me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Clopin said cheerfully. He put on a large beam, trying to ignore the shattering pain it caused in his lips.

“I can fight!”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“I can save her!”

“You’ve done a great job at that so far.”

“Look,” The captain’s face broke with sorrow and regret. He fell to his knees, blue eyes on the verge of tears. “I can’t change what happened. But please let me make up for it. If anything else happens to her, I’d…” Unable to continue, the man bowed his head with flying blond hair going in all directions.

Clopin’s grin became more genuine. “Let you ‘make up for it’? Do you really mean that, Captain?”

“Of course I do!” He roared, shaking the bars. “Let me out and I’ll prove it to you! I’ll fight! I’ll save her!”

“You already said that.” Clopin waved away his cries of passion with nonchalant dismissal. “I have no doubt you attempt to do just that, Captain. I am, however, more interested in the ‘make up for it’ part.”

He raged against the bars before glaring daggers into the lean gypsy. Eventually, the man’s face became strangely calm as understanding finally wormed its way through his thick head. All he gave was a nod before the words game halting out. “I will do whatever it takes to ‘make it up to you’ once this is over. But only if you let me out to help.”

Tilting his head sideways, Clopin asked, “Do I have your word, Captain?”

“Yes! You have my word! Quickly!”

“Even if La Esmeralda objects? No matter what is said or done?”

There was no hesitation. “I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit. Now, for the love of God, _let me out, man_!”

Nimble hands flew against the lock as Clopin quickly said, “Frollo will go in after her. He has keys and will lock the passages behind him. Don’t waste your time going after him the same way. Go up the other tower.”

He quickly jumped out of the cage, and attempted to take off running, but was frozen as he felt the gypsy grip his arm. “One last thing, Captain.” He growled, glaring at him. “I am sending you because I can’t go myself. And I send you, a _gadjo_ , because I know for a fact that the one that fails to protect her like she deserves will die a slow death at my hand, and I’d rather it not be my kin.”

The look in his eyes told Clopin that he believed him. He gave a nod, and then took off racing towards Notre Dame.

Clopin watched him leave for only a moment. His vision tunneled again as his body relaxed against the adrenaline pulsing through him. He felt himself sway before he fell completely into Clair.

“No, no!” She screamed as Clopin’s eyes shut slowly. “No, Clopin! Stay awake! Talk to me!”

“I forgot you were there.” he whispered, wilting further into her. He opened his eyes so he could look at her properly to apologize. “Sorry you had to see that, Clair. Ugly business, that was.”

“No! Stay awake!” She shrieked, gently shaking him.

“How can I sleep?” He murmured with a faint smile. “Too much noise. Too much blood. The smell is terrible!”

“Good, you can still joke.”

“You wound me further than I already am. I can always tell a good joke.”

The world began to spin around him gently, dragging him towards the ground. Despite his words, he could no in fact think of a single joke; or anything at the moment. All he knew was ravaging pain and darkness fluttering around him. Curious, he stared into the dark clouding the corners of his eyes. It took him over completely now. He could see nothing but blackness. It was dizzying and made him drowsy.

“Please, stay with me, Clopin!”

Who was that yelling at him? It was becoming harder and harder to remember anything in particular.

He felt his body move, but the movement felt wrong. It was if time had slowed, or he was underwater. Instead of jostling him, it simply made him aware of how fuzzy his body felt. The sensation was tremendously light. It made him so very sleepy.

“Please, Clopin! Please!”

Before he fell asleep, he should at least ask for forgiveness from the voice imploring him. It felt like the right thing to do.

But his mouth wouldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried.

His eyes wouldn’t open, regardless of his commands.

Conscious thoughts were slipping away, despite Clopin’s desperate grip.

Light erupted in front of his eyes and warmth flushed against his cheeks, momentarily releasing him from the hold the blackness had on him. He managed to barely open his eyes in time to see fire draining down the gargoyles of Notre Dame.

Ah, no point in fighting back now. If his brain was so far gone it made him imagine the stone cathedral catching on fire, there was little point to try and stay awake any further.

Besides, he was so exhausted.

Being the king was draining, that was for sure.

 

o.O.o

 

He couldn’t remember how or why he managed to open his eyes again. Later, he would have no memory of doing so, but too many people swore to him that he had.

It was just after the captain’s bellows rang through the crowd that the gypsies realized their king was stirring.

“Three cheers for Quasimodo!”

Clopin didn’t cheer like the shouting voice asked. Instead, he whisper-sang.

_So here is a riddle_

_To guess if you can;_

_Sing the bells of Notre Dame._

_What makes a monster_

_And what makes a man?_

_Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells_

_Whatever their pitch,_

_You feel them bewitch you._

_The rich and the ritual knells,_

_Of the bells of Notre Dame!_

But he couldn’t remember the notes he sang or the reactions to his song; nor the strong arms tightening their grip around him. All he could remember was darkness. The darkness; and how he was both powerless and unwilling to fight it.

He was just too tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you watch HoND with commentary, you'll hear them comment that Phoebus's speech was originally Clopin's. But, the storyboard said that they felt it needed to be Phoebus to say it so he was more involved with the fight. That's why I always found the scene so strange. Why would someone that hasn't lived in Paris in 20 years still say 'we' and 'ours'. Then, why do the gargoyles and Quasi reintroduce Phoebus into the fight?
> 
> I fumed over the injustice of taking away Clo's speech until I finally had to give it back to him. Thus, my one-shot became more than just a simple one-shot. Also, I gave Phoebus Clopin's lines there at the end. Seemed only fair to…
> 
> Furthermore, Clopin being injured is one of my 2 head cannons as why he wasn't in the fight. The other is that he went far too bloody crazy with a scythe and, even for this movie, it was too dark for Disney.
> 
> Lastly, I have a number of references to Victor Hugo and his writing inside this chapter. Cookies for you if you can spot them!
> 
> And, I truly mean it, thanks for reading!


	4. One Single Little Thing

He shifted his weight as his brow lowered in thought. Three maps lay in front of him. Many guards, but not all, had been slain in The Battle of Norte Dame (terribly boring name, completely uncreative). With the few still drawing breath from their mouths, they _had_ to be talking. The location of the Court of Miracles was a question that had been passed around the peasants like sweets for years. He doubted it had taken more than a brief moment for one guard to tell some other person about the catacombs…

Clopin rubbed his temples, willing his headache away.

Though they could never return to the Court, besides to salvage what little possessions they owed, the catacombs were still a decent hiding spot. The unrelenting size of the labyrinth of tunnels below the city meant they would find few travelers in the areas they didn’t want them. If he could _find_ a large enough open area, that wasn’t too far from some entrance, that wasn’t completely flooded (or too full of the dead), and was just hard enough to find but not so hard that his people would need a guild instead of a coded map…

This time, he gave a loud sigh, leaning back against the chair out of habit.

Clopin immediately gave a hiss of pain, quickly tilting forward. His vision dilated, but he forced himself to grit his teeth. As quickly as the wave hit him, it dulled down, becoming a simple throbbing ache.

Biting his tongue now instead of his lip, he reconsidered the maps with a simple head tilt, hoping the new angle would reveal something and keep his mind off of the pain if only for a moment.

Even with the new angle, he could only see the same four possible locations from before. Still, he hesitated. Scouting was _always_ a danger. People could get lost. And if they got injured, there was little hope in finding them for a recuse. And, if that wasn’t even the worst, they could always fall into a hole and their bones would eventually join the rest. Clopin’s eyes closed with a frown. Any accident would be on his head and on his hands.

When these maps were constructed some ten or so years ago, people had died. Three men, if Clopin’s memory was to be trusted. At least back then, it hadn’t been him giving the orders.

But his people had enough of squatting in these abandoned houses or in the blasted cathedral herself. Barely any work was getting done, and people were beginning to become restless and reckless. Three fights had already broken out. After all, gypsies didn’t do well inside stone walls.

His eyes opened, but the frown stayed. Despite how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember who told him that.

They _needed_ a safe haven. A sanctuary…

Even so, volunteers only. And they would be well-fed. Though not entirely satisfied, Clopin started to roll up the maps. There weren’t any other options that he could reasonably consider. And the sooner the gypsies could start on their new home, the better.

A smile only now fell on his lips at the idea of what this _new_ court would be like. His people all sitting together in the same place again. The music, the warmth, the jokes – God he missed it. And the city had offered him a boon! Maybe he could get some new supplies, for he knew better than to ask for more than that. Perhaps he would even rename his Court. The Court of Hope? The Court of Wonder?

A small chuckle flew from his lips with a head shake. No, he liked The Court of Miracles.

Standing with a wince, he started to gather the rolled up maps from table. Tucking them into his deep pockets, he dared a glance around. Who used to live here, he wondered. The bed was in tatters, but the chair and table were still in perfect condition. Lying across the floor were blankets and a few remaining sleeping bodies. There was only one pillow in the whole room, and it had been forced upon Clopin in the middle of night. The thought made him smile tenderly, but his heart wrenched in the kindness his people gave to him. Why on earth would such wonderful people care about him of all people, he knew not. But he desperately wished they would never stop.

Clopin moved carefully so he wouldn’t accidently nudge someone awake, or rip open his scabs any more than he already had. He was just about his limit of being scolded by Clair and Esmeralda about that. Just as he gently closed the door behind him, he turned around to spot a short figure with a bundle of black curls sitting beside the door.

“I was just thinking about you.” Clopin said with a smile. “Is that a wonderful consequence?”

La Esmeralda didn’t smile at him. “I want to talk about–”

“– _Ma Cherie_ , I have been far too sober for far too long to have that conversation.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If memory serves, that is a certain someone’s fault.”

Her face began determined. She leaned forward, pointing to his face. “You shouldn’t even be standing! And I know that if you start drinking, you’ll start dancing. You _always_ dance drunk.”

“You wound me!” He said with mock hurt, dramatically gesturing to himself. The movement made his back give him a real pang of pain, but he pretended it didn’t.

“Right,” She rolled her eyes. Slowly, her body sagged until it became clear just how exhausted she was. “If I can’t bring you to talk about it, can you please at least go lie down? I am worried enough (and furious enough!) at you already.”

“Esme, I have been doing nothing by taking it easy for _five days_!”

“Exactly! Five days is not a long time, Clo.”

Titling his head, he gave her a soft smile. “And I was asleep for four days on top of that.”

He immediately regretted his words as the young woman physically flinched at them. “Are you–”

“–I’m _fine_ , Esme.”

“You’re not fine!” She snapped, eyes brimming with tears. “Your fever only broke six days ago, and you’re up walking around!”

“I’m fine.” He insisted. To show his earnest, he opened his arms so Esmeralda could get a better look at him. “See? All in one piece,”

“What Frollo did–”

And for the third time, Clopin overrode her, “Please don’t say anything about it.”

It was a true testament to how worried she was from him that she didn’t scold him. Usually, he could only get away with interrupting her twice at the most without hearing a few choice words. Her eyes stayed on him, furious and determined while her brow dipped in concern. “But you should talk about it.”

“What do you want me to say, Esme? Yes, Frollo gave me a good flogging. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it was so inconveniently timed so that I was helpless in the fight. No, I am not dying. Yes, I am fine.”

Just maybe if he said it enough times, both of them would believe it.

The young woman did nothing for a moment, just stared at him. When she opened her mouth, she surprised him just as she always did. “Can I hug your arm?”

He blinked a few times. “O-of course you can. Why?”

Without answering, she grabbed his arm, burying her head deep into his shoulder. Based on the way she so gently held him, the restraint she gave even now must be a strain. “What’s wrong, _Ma Cherie_?” He whispered into her ear as he draped his other arm around her, holding her against his chest.

It took a while, but she slowly answered. “I’ve wanted to hug you for a long time, but I can’t with your back so hurt.”

As he gently stroked her hair, Clopin whispered, “I’m not the only one who’s been avoiding this question. Are you okay, Esme?”

She stiffened, but quietly spoke. “I was _terrified_ , Clo. When Frollo came up to me on that pyre… he-he offered to spare me if I slept with him.”

With these words, Clopin stiffened. He could feel the anger buried deep within his stomach start to smolder once again. Instead of voicing that, however, he forced himself to chuckle. “And that’s when you spat on him, yes? Oh, I was so proud.”

She gave a wet giggle back at him, making Clopin realize that she was also crying. “Yes, that’s when I spat on him. I would have rather died than be even slightly intimate with that man.”

“Good for you, _Cherie_!”

“I hated him so much, Clopin.” She whispered. “And even so, it was horrifying to watch him fall screaming off of Norte Dame.”

Clopin nodded, but said nothing for a time. The first thing he did when he became even slightly lucid was demand to know what had happened. If the same story hadn’t been repeated from four different people, he didn’t know how much he would have trusted the tale. In a lot of ways, he still didn’t believe what had happened. But, hearing it from Esmeralda’s mouth herself, he knew that he had accepted it as a truth. Frollo was dead.

“I’d killed him again.” Clopin growled finally. Esmeralda looked up to him. There was little surprise in her face. “I would kill that _salaud_ again if I had the chance! After what he dared to do to you…?” His body began to shake. “I’d kill him again and again!”

“No need to, at least. He’s finally gone, Clo.”

“That’s almost the problem.” He whispered.

Esmeralda crooked her head. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Oh, I’m just pouting I didn’t get to be conscious to watch the man die, or see his body.”

“I watched him fall myself. He’s dead.”

“I don’t doubt you, _Ma Cherie_. I just wish I could have seen it myself.”

“I wish I didn’t.” She buried her head further into his shoulder. “It really was horrible, Clopin.”

As he ran his hand over her hair, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re unhurt after everything that happened, Esme.”

She stiffened. “I wish I could say the same. I had no idea what happened to you until someone finally told me during the aftermath of the celebration.”

“Did you still celebrate after that?” The gypsy asked with a chuckle.

“Of course not.” She whispered, a little too gravely.

“Not even with your new toy?”

Her face flushed red, but she didn’t break eye contact. “He’s not a toy, Clo.”

“My, my, aren’t you being serious? Sorry, _Ma Cherie_ , I did not mean to offend you.”

Instead of answering, Esmeralda tightened her grip on his arm, and Clopin’s embraced pulled her closer to his chest even more so. Using his wrist to keep her up against him, he used his hand to gently stroke her hair.

The words felt stuck at his lips. He bit his tongue gently. Despite his sincerity, he would wait to talk for when he had some wine in him. He would tell her all about how scared he had been, watching her tied to that pyre. She would finally know for certain that he considered her blood. No matter how important being a king was to him, she was still vastly more important. Never again would she wonder if he was proud of her, because she would have confirmation. Finally, he would tell her that despite how excruciating his torture was, it was but a candlelight in front of a fire compared to the pain he felt believing she was going to die.

He couldn’t say those words now, not without the alcohol he could use as an excuse. When it came to candor affection-put-to-words, he sure was a coward. ‘But,’ he told himself as he continued to fondle her hair gently, ‘at least I can admit that.’

Neither gypsy wanted the moment to end. But, as it is with all moments, it was interrupted. Nearby, someone cleared their throat. They quickly separated, but she didn’t release his arm. As Clopin turned, he spotted the blond hair before he noticed the man shifting his weight, looking embarrassed.

“Phoebus!” La Esmeralda welcomed enthusiastically with a beam.

“Esmeralda.” He turned to her with a genuine smile before turning to Clopin. His face sobered, and he greeted him with a stiff nod. “King,”

Clopin made sure the man saw him rolling his eyes as he copied the movement, just to make him feel stupid and self-conscious. “Captain.”

“Ex-Captain.” He corrected, cheeks reddening.

“Right then; _ex_ posed-king.” Clopin corrected as a retort.

They continued to stare each other down, with Esmeralda looking between them with a hard look of purpose. If it grew anymore edgy and awkward, Clopin would have bet money the tension would be tangible enough to physically touch.

“Wait; you’re not still mad about the almost hanging, are you Phoebus?” Esmeralda asked finally, looking legitimately confused.

“No.” He told her, eyes gentling as he faced her.

“And Clo, you’re not still mad about what happened at the Court, are you?”

A chuckle left his lips, but it held no warmth. “But of course I am, Esme!”

“See!” She claimed triumphantly. “So,” Her face fell. Releasing his arm, she rounded onto Clopin. “What are you talking about?”

“Esmera–”

“Esme, I–”

“No!” She snapped at the both of them. “You two are being ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Clopin rolled his eyes. The scoff he heard in returned meant that Esmeralda still hated when he did that. “Esme, thanks to your tiny-minded boy, we lost our home, our safety, and many lives. I’d hardly call that worthy of a word like ‘ridiculous’.”

“Phoebus didn’t do that.”

“I–”

She gave him a look that shut up the captain fast. “I’m sorry, Phoebus. Just give me a moment to talk some sense into Clo.”

“Esme, I–”

“I think–”

“Not a word, the both of you! Now, Clopin, you know as well as I do that Phoebus wanted to help.”

“That’s true.” He said with a childish smile.

“And Phoebus, you understand that Clopin never actually meant to harm you.”

“I–”

“Oh, I had _every_ intention of hanging him, _Ma Cherie_.”

“Clo, you’re not helping!”

“I wasn’t trying to help, _Ma Cherie_. I’m trying to make it worse.”

“Well stop! And stop smiling too!”

He did frown now, face hardening. “What would you have me do, Esme? Excuse this man of all his crimes simply because he had good intentions?”

Her brow deepened as her lips curled inwards. When she spoke, her voice barely hid the venom. “Why are you only blaming Phoebus, Clo? Quasimodo was the one with the map.”

“He–”

“A map _I_ gave him!”

“You–”

“Because he saved me from Frollo after _I_ made a mess of things. You can’t just blame Phoebus for what happened and not mention me or Quasi!”

“Can I speak, _Ma Cherie_?” Though he asked, his tone suggested it wasn’t a question. He folded his arms, giving her an equal hard look. Perhaps she learned it from him? She did latch onto him at a young age. There was no telling what she had copied. However, that furious idealism didn’t come from him! “I stand by what I said to begin with.” He gave a shrug and the smallest of smiles before continuing. “If your actions of saving Quasimodo didn’t cause Frollo’s his descend into madness, something else would have. We all know the man was insane to begin with. If not you, it would have been someone, or something, else that finally pushed him too far. To even think about placing blame on you is idiotic.

“Quasimodo grew up in probably the most serve case of ‘sheltered’ I’ve ever seen. He was locked away by Frollo and has spent more time with rocks than people.” Raising and eyebrow, his small smile grew a tad more. “How can I possibly be mad at a boy like that? He knows as much about the real world as a priest knows about a brothel.

“However,” he only now turned to look at the captain now. Under his gaze, the man’s hopeful face melted into an unreadable expression. He stood with his arms behind his straighten back, and his feet together. ‘What a model solider…’ Clopin had to roll his eyes again. “You just spent the last 20 years in the wars, yes? You know how the world works more than most people! You’ve surely seen your fair share of dirty tricks and scheming, yes? And you spent time with Frollo? You saw what kind of a monster he is-was! Did it ever once cross your mind that it was a trick? It was my first thought, after all.”

He held Clopin’s gaze while the man had spoken, but now he dropped it to his feet. “No,” he said softly. “It didn’t occur to me.”

“See, Esme?” Clopin turned to her with a tired sigh. He could see her resolve wavering, but knew better than to think it would stay that way. “His only excuse is stupidity. Noble stupidity, yes, but stupidity nonetheless,”

“But he _helped_ us.”

“I haven’t forgotten that, _Ma Cherie_ , I promise.”

As expected, her face became determined once again. Her voice, however, was unexpectedly soft and gentle. “You’re being ridiculous, Clo! We’re on the same side. You should act like it.”

“Esmeralda,” The two gypsies turned to him, surprised he was willing to add to the conversation now. “He’s right. I need to make amends for my mistakes.”

“Oh, yes!” Esmeralda snapped. As she turned to the captain, Clopin felt relief to not be on the receiving end for once. “How dare you leave the wars on orders? How dare you find loopholes in Frollo’s orders to save me? And how dare you disobey orders when innocent lives were on the line!”

“I–”

Her voice dropped several tones, becoming soft and sincere. “You are a good man, Phoebus. I don’t want you torturing yourself with guilt over something you didn’t do.”

His calm composer dropped, falling to a face wrecked with sorrow. “But I did, Esmeralda. I didn’t mean to, sure, but I did. I’m the one that convinced Quasimodo to use the map to find you. I’m the one that carried the torch through the streets like an amateur idiot. And I’m the one that led the troops to your home, putting hundreds in danger. Clop- the king is right to want to hold me accountable for what I did to you and your people.

“Please,” He held up a hand to stop the gypsy woman from speaking. “I have already agreed to accept whatever punishment he deems fit and I _will_ keep my promise.”

Her eyes widened. She turned slowly to Clopin, tears just on the edge of her eyes. “Clo, what did you make him promise?”

“Simply what he offered: to make amends.” Clopin leaned back on his heels casually. His hands moved to fold themselves across his back without thought, but the pain that came from the contact made him wince and stop.

Her concern overpowered whatever she was going to say, letting the captain say his share. “Please, Esmeralda, don’t be angry with him. He is only doing what is right for your people.”

Looking between the two men, she seemed stuck. Finally, Esmeralda reached forward to run a hand across the captain’s cheek. “But you’re my people too.” She whispered a moment after that.

Clopin closed his eyes so he won’t have to see the moment progress. He tried to ignore the urge to grab his dagger on his side and ram it through the captain’s ribs. His dear Esmeralda had dated many a man… well, ‘dated’ was the wrong word. She had had her fun whenever the impulse struck her. And, throughout her life, Clopin had forced himself to be okay with that. It had been harder at first, the idea of her out there with the male race (Clopin _knew_ what they wanted from her!). But, over time, he had come to terms with the knowledge that the little girl that used to cling to his leg begging for sweets, songs, and playtime had grown up into a beautiful woman.

It wasn’t the kind of anger than was akin to jealousy. No, it was more of a feeling of helplessness.

At least it was easier when it was her and the gypsy boys! Then, if nothing else, Clopin was able to keep an eye out and shoot dangerous looks at them just in case they decided to break her heart. Even laying that aside, he had respect for every gypsy, so that made it easier. The captain didn’t have that luxury just yet.

And whatever was between these two didn’t seem like her usual dalliances either. _Merde_! Leave it to Esmeralda to fall for the Captain of the Guards. Her idealism and belief of good in people would be the death of Clopin.

His eyes were still closed when the captain spoke again. “Esmeralda, I need to do this. Please understand.”

Instead of answering, she turned to Clopin. Her face was edged in worry and sadness. She reached forward to him, cupping his face in her hands before planting a kiss on his forehead. “Please be merciful, Clopin.” She whispered. “Please, I beg you.”

“Fear not, _Ma Cherie_.” He said lightly, though his heart was heavy. “Your Captain would look terrible with a rope necklace, yes? He already has poor taste in fashion; I will not add to it.”

“Please, Clo.” She pleaded softly, not taking his bait for jokes.

But joking was the only thing that made Clopin feel better about tough situations. “Would you still like him if he didn’t have a nose?”

“I mean it.” She placed another gentle kiss on his forehead before stepping away.

“You wound me!” He declared dramatically. “I mean it too.”

Finally, a small smile graced her lips. She looked between the two men before shaking her head. “I do not approve of this. I will never approve of this. We’re on the same side.” She gave a sigh, before giving them both another glance. “Phoebus, don’t blame yourself, please. And Clopin, please take it easy. I don’t want your injuries to get worse. Promise you’ll eventually lie down?”

“Eventually, _Ma Cherie_.” He said with a grin.

She nodded only once, then turned on her heels and strolled away.

A few minutes ticked slowly by before the captain broke the silence. “Your injuries?”

Clopin waved him off, feinting apathy. As he spoke, his tone was laced with nonchalance, “Swollen jaw, black eye, bloody nose, 40 lashes, gashed lip, and a few boot marks. Far as I can tell no rope mark or burnt marks so I’ll live.”

His eyes widened in horror. “I’m sorry.”

A flash of deep anger raged through Clopin. Pride pounded blood to his ears. “I don’t want you pity, Captain.”

“Nor shall I give it.  I meant only that if it weren’t for me, Frollo won’t have taken you.” He glanced down at his shuffling feet. “Esmeralda told me that Frollo injured you before the battle, but I had no idea how badly. Learning it in a little more detail just made me feel guiltier, so I wanted to apologize.”

“You know, that’s a fair point.” Clopin folded his arms across his chest, grinning widely at him. “Good to know I have yet another thing to blame upon you. You seem insistent on wanting me to make things harder for you. Even after Esme’s heartfelt speech….”

The captain only stared a moment before rising a hand to rub his nose. “You were kidding about the whole cutting-my-nose-off thing, right?”

“Perhaps.” He had been joking, but it was too amusing to let the captain squirm. Grinning, he titled his head to give him another look. “Why so persistent on making amends anyway, Captain? You could’ve run off right after the commotion. With my fever and the festivals, I doubt there’d been a single person to come after you.”

“I meant what I said both just now with Esmeralda and during the battle.” He shifted his weight to stand ready again. The way he clutched his jaw suggested he was expecting a punch being thrown his way. “I will keep my promised. I wronged you and your people. I will do whatever it takes to make up for that.”

“How very dramatic of you.” Clopin said voice laced with sarcasm, though he approved a lot of his answer. “Walk with me, would you?”

He only offered a nod in response and they began to walk together. They strolled through the abandon streets that were falling into disarray, heading towards no particular location in general. “I’ll admit to be at a bit of a lost as how to handle you, Captain.” Clopin said lightly, a joyous smile on his face. “In most cases, I would have probably let the people have their way with you. Oh, how they would’ve shouted for your various ways to have you executed. Whichever group screamed the loudest would get to choose. Drowning, beheading, hung; you name it, we killed it.”

“I… see.”

“Fear not, Captain. I have no interest in killing you. You seem like you’d be a bore to watch anyway. Death should be a spectacle that people come together to watch. You’d just set your jaw and take it like a noble fool. Not much to watch off of _that_.”

“Th-thank you?”

“You see,” Clopin continued, ignoring him. “My duties as the Gypsy King involved many various things. One of them was being the mediator between two opposing people in a fight. I’d pick which was in the wrong, and give out my punishments accordingly. Very rarely was I ever at a loss of how to punish them. Anything from certain chores, forcing them to sow certain garments, or even doubling their contribution for the day, it all came very easily to me.”

“I see.”

“With you, however?” He eyed him, disgust building across his face. “You’re not one of us. You don’t know how our customs work. You couldn’t add anything to the pool.”

“I can fight.” He protested. “That can help, right?”

“Just whom are we supposed to be fighting?” He folded his arms before gesturing wildly around him. “All of Paris? France herself? The Gypsy are welcomed nowhere, _gadjo_. We’d have to fight the whole world so we could have a place in it. Make no mistake there.”

Without waiting for a response, he continued walking, forcing the man to catch up. “Even if you didn’t mean so much to La Esmeralda, I wouldn’t kill you. You’d just become a martyr. ‘Oh, look what the gypsies did to this poor man. Even after he helped them!’ Even ignoring how much it’d piss off the peasants, you _did_ help us, helped me. I won’t forget this.”

The captain said nothing, casting his eyes down.

“So, what to do?” Clopin grinned, turning towards him slowly. “Truly, I can think of only one thing. But not here. We’d have to do that later tonight.”

He gulped, nodding. “Whatever you deem worthy.”

“Excellent!” He cried, looking boyishly happy. “Tonight at that terrible building I’m squatting in. Don’t be surprised to see an audience.”

“I will be there.” His voice was shaking. “A-anything else you want of me before tonight?”

“Just one more thing.” Clopin cleared his throat, being placing a large beam upon his face. “I _will_ kill you if you harm Esme. Not as punishment, not as a king, and not as a gypsy. Just you,” he pointed to the captain, “a knife,” a gesture to the dagger lying on his hip, “and a pissed off older brother.” He pointed his puffed out chest. “Got it?”

He nodded somberly. “I understand. And I’m glad she has someone like you to look out for her.”

His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed whimsical to match his grin. “I’m the one that calmed her through her tantrums. I’m the one that taught her to dance. I was the one that snuck her treats during dinner. I was the one that gave her that devil of a goat. I’ll be damned if I’ll not be the one that tears the ears off of the man that breaks her heart. Make no mistake on where my allegiance lie. I will always have that girl’s back.”

“Understood.” He gave a nod.

Clopin chuckled, turning away. “Also, captain, don’t wear any armor tonight. I’ll see you an hour after sundown.”

Leaving the man behind, Clopin gave a sigh. Well, that was one less thing for him to figure about.

He wondered if he could make it to Jacques and discuss the means it would take to gather some volunteers and food for them without Clair or Esmeralda finding him and demanding him to rest.

Probably not, but it was still worth a shot.

 

o.O.o

 

The news that the king was going to judge the Captain of the Guards spread amongst the gypsies like wildfire. Every time Clopin retook in the scene, he could help but chuckle at the wide range of people are gathered around to see him give some, as many were referring to as, ‘Clopin Justice’.

With so many crammed in the small space, people were spilling into the outdoors. Clopin had made people make a small circle in the middle of the room, with him sitting on the chair at the top, furthest from the door. When the captain made his way through the cheering (and leering) crowd with Esmeralda at his side, he looked positively shocked by the turnout.

Standing up as the captain came into the circle, Clopin approached slowly, his hands folded across his chest. “Standing here, in front of all here to see, we have Ex-Captain of the Guards: Phoebus de Châteaupers.” He grinned the way the man looked up in surprise. Until that moment, he had never actually said the captain’s name out loud. “His crimes are grave. His intentions, on the other ‘foot’, are noble. I promise not to overlook this.”

Clearing his throat, ignoring the worried glance Esmeralda sent his way, Clopin raised his voice. “Phoebus de Châteaupers, you are accused of assisting Frollo hunt down innocent gypsies. Your defense: you were only following orders. Anything else to say in your defense?”

“Just how much I regret my inaction.”

He nodded at his words, smiling as he spoke. “So taciturn.” This earned him a few snickers from the crowd. “I would’ve pointed out how I saved the Miller’s family if it was me on trial. Guess I’m just overly talkative.”

Relieved to see that he managed to get Esmeralda to smile, he raised his voice again. “You were tricked into leading Frollo right to the Court of Miracles. As a result, we lost innocent lives, our home, and most of our few possessions.” He paused long enough for the crowd to stop jeering and murmuring. “You defense?”

Throughout Clopin’s monologue, the captain’s eyes were down casted. Now, he looked up, honest sorrow edged in his face. “As you said, I was tricked. My folly, no matter how my intentions, is unforgivable.” Turning, he faced the crowd instead. “I know my apology can never make up for my mistakes, and I won’t ask for forgiveness. Just know that my intention all long was to help and protect you.”

“That’s better, captain.” Clopin grinned at him. “I was wondering if you’d say anything.”

Clearing his throat again, Clopin looked up pasted him. “Now that your crimes have been listed, let me say a few of your good deeds. You also saved Esmeralda from Frollo after the Feast of Fools. You saved the Miller’s family at great risk to your own life. You did try to warn us of Frollo, even if it was our downfall. You helped in the Battle of Notre Dame. Quasimodo, the man that saved La Esmeralda’s life, owes you his life. Your actions led to the death of Frollo, and I will not forget it.”

Frowning, out of nowhere, Clopin folded his arms against his chest once more, stepping forward slowly. “Your crimes to me and my people is a grave long list. One, normally, I would see you hung for.” A hush fell over the crowd, only small breathes seemed to be heard. Doing his very best, Clopin tried to ignore the pleading look he knew Esmeralda was shooting at him. “At the same time, I owe you a great debt. La Esmeralda is blood.” He gestured to the woman as he spoke. “You saved the man that saved her. By that extension, I owe you for her life.”

“Clo,” Esmeralda breathed, so quiet he was certain only he and the captain heard.

“When all reason said not to, you turned against your superior.” His frown turned into an intense glare as he whispered. “Disobeying your superior takes a rare breed of bravery that borders on recklessness. Don’t think I don’t know.”

Once more, he raised his voice. “Though late, you did eventually turn on Frollo. Had Esmeralda not intervened, you would be dead as a result. You nearly died as it was.

“I believe I have a suitable punishment for your crimes. Are you willing to accept my decision on the matter?”

He gulped, doing his best to keep his gaze. “I am.”

Turning, Clopin addressed the crowd. “And are the gypsies willing to accept my decision?” The crowd answered in loud cheering and shouts of affirmation.

“Great!” Laughing, he turned back to the captain. “After the punishment is given, you will no longer be held accountable for your crimes in the eyes of the people. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He nodded, looking sober.

“Are you prepared to hear it what I have in mind?”

“I a–”

Not waiting for him to finish talking (or nodding), Clopin swung a foot back, and kicked him in his unmentionables as hard as he could. The blood drained from his face as a wordless cry of pain escaped his lips. Before he could finish toppling to the ground, Clopin pulled back a fist, and properly hit him in the eye. The captain flagged to the ground, writhing, tearing up, and screaming in a wordless cry. It was understandable, given that Clopin’s foot was aching and his hand was pounding. If he in slight pain, it was no wonder the captain was feeling it.

At once, Esmeralda was at his side, whispering words of comfort as she stroked his head. The gypsies around them started to holler and cheer. Many approached him, shaking his hand or clapping him on the shoulder. After a large amount loud applauding, one by one, the gypsy filed out of the room, still laughing and talking happily amongst themselves.

Soon, it was just Clopin, sitting on his chair grinning, and Esmeralda helping Phoebus back to his feet left in the room. “You… don’t hold back any punches.” Phoebus squeaked, voice hoarse.

“Please, Phoebus,” He rolled his eyes, face still lite with his grin. “If I did that, do you honestly think I’d still be king?”

“No, probably not.” He gave a shudder, signaling to Esmeralda that he wanted to sit down again. Gently, she placed him on the floor, face lined with suppressed amusement, but mostly concern. Groaning, the man turned onto his back, face constricted.

“It could have been worse.”

“You only say that because you’ve never been kicked in the balls before, Esme.” Clopin said with a chuckle, folding his arms.

“I think I would’ve preferred the rope.” Phoebus gasped.

Esmeralda grinned, bending down to place a gentle peck on his swelling eye. “I wouldn’t have. Thank you for doing that, Phoebus.”

Clopin rolled his eyes, making his voice a higher pitch. “Yes _, thank you Phoebus for showing mercy to my boy-toy_.”

She chuckled, turning towards him and placing a quick peck on his forehead. “And thank _you_ Clopin, for doing that.”

“Of course, _Ma Cherie_.” He said joyfully, closing his eyes for her kiss. “I’m always happy to kick him in the balls, should you ever feel he needs it. Really, anytime,”

Phoebus whimpered from the ground in response.

“You’ll be fine.” Clopin waved him off, smiling wildly. “You might still even be able to have kids.”

“C-cruel,”

And Clopin threw his head back and laughed until he had tears springing to his eyes. He kept laughing until his tears began to strip down his face.

People had died. His family had died.

They still didn’t have a home. Plans were in motion, but it would never be the same.

Sometimes when he was asleep, he would find himself back in a cage, trapped beneath the looming glare of that judge.

And he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but his back hadn’t felt much better in a while.

Hastily, he wiped the remains of his tears away, glad that Esmeralda’s eyes were on her quivering man on the floor. No one, not even his beloved Esme would see how broken he felt on the inside.

When she turned her attention back to him, he already had a smile perfectly in place. She grinned back before she bent down to whisper things to Phoebus.

Despite all the horrible things that had happened and had he had yet to fix, Clopin felt a strange peace wash over him. Even if things never ended up the way they used to be, Clopin felt certain that he would do his best.

And he was the Gypsy King. His best meant that he wouldn’t rest until it was solved. That meant until he had a rope around his neck and could no longer feel his toes; he would strive to fix everything.

And, looking at La Esmeralda bend down to kiss her new man, Clopin felt certain that she would be okay. Even if Phoebus turned out to be a monster and Clopin had to kill him, he somehow felt that she would be able to stay strong.

She was all grown up, safe, and beautiful as the day he found her begging for food.

No matter what else Clopin failed at. This, this couple right here in front of him, was proof he did at least one single little thing right in this twisted sick world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my utter self-indulgent story of one of my favorite characters of all time. I tried to make it the story that won't leave my head, but I can't help but feel that it still worked best as how I originally planned it to be: a one-shot. Still, when the story won't let you sleep at night until you write it, you have very little choice. My favorite chapter is and forever will be the first. I hope the other three added to it, not taken away. I suppose it's up to you, the reader, to decide.
> 
> Last little fun fact, if you notice, Clopin doesn't actually refer to Phoebus or Quasimodo by name throughout most of this.
> 
> Phoebus is the captain/the idiot/the gadjo/the man/toy
> 
> Quasi is the hunchback
> 
> It's not until Quasi saves Esmeralda that Clopin refers to him by name. Phoebus only gets named by him at the every ending. But, on the other hand, Frollo is only called 'the judge' once. This isn't something he does consciously. Being The Gypsy King is one of the most important things about him. As such, he relishes in the title. Calling Frollo by his title, in his mind, makes him feel like he's respecting him. And, while this is no shock, Clopin hates Frollo and doesn't want to show any respect at all to him.
> 
> The exact opposite happens with the former two. He doesn't respect either of them. Sure, he doesn't mind Quasi, even after the little misunderstanding, but there's very little respect involved. So, he makes up titles of mockery for them in his head. That way, to him, he feels like they're not quite on the level as, say, 'the gypsy'.
> 
> Again, he doesn't do that consciously.
> 
> By the way, he actually didn't refer to Phoebus as 'the captain' until after he lost the title. Before that, it would had fallen under the same category as 'the judge' with Frollo. I like to think he thought of him as 'That Great Blond Mess' before he became, 'the captain'.
> 
> Really, though, you guys are the best for reading this. I truly appreciate every view, every kudo, every hit, and especially the comments! They never fail to make me smile. Thanks for reading, really!


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